The Choice
by Angel-Castiel
Summary: Sequel to The Intrusive Baby but don't have to have read. Moriarty is back and takes John to be his new pet. Sherlock/John M for slash and torture
1. Chapter 1

This is sequel to The Intrusive Baby. You don't have to have read it but it might help so you know who Zara is. Basically Harry adopted her and dumped her on John to look after her. Zara was then given to another family through social services.

Well done Sherlock and Martin Freeman at the baftas. I loved Benedict's sparkly shoes

I don't own the characters, I just enjoy writing them.

"Yes Mycroft I know I don't speak to Mother enough. It is intentional."

"Well she reckons that you should fulfil your role as a son and at least send her a mother's day card. Moving on, what is it you require?"

"You know what I want."

"Yes I do, I just wish to hear you say the words."

"Fine. I need your help. As easy as it is for me to just hack into your systems and the government CCTV I fatefully cannot be in two places at once and John needs me here as well. I wish for you to double your efforts in the search for Moriarty and give me access to resources and men to set up a decoy he won't be able to resist."

"my my. I never thought I'd see the day when the 'great' Sherlock Holmes would admit to needing help."

"Well at least I don't need the help of a gastric band to keep me looking desirable. Although even major plastic surgery wouldn't help a woman fall for you."

That wiped the smirk off his face, thought Sherlock. 4673 to me and Mycroft nil. Well one to Mycroft if you believed John after what had happened last week.

They were sat in the Baker Street flat while John went out for the shopping after losing the arm wrestling match Sherlock had insisted on after being ordered to do it himself. An ex-soldier John should have won hands down against such a lanky man but John had learned to never underestimate his lover when it came to his body as he somehow hadn't died from malnourishment after years of basically starving himself.

"That was just a consult Sherlock nothing more."

"Sure. And I need you to watch this house." Sherlock handed over a slip of paper, "especially the infant Zara that I presume you know was living here last week. It is important to John that she is safe which means it's important to me."

"Sherlock do you know how much work I have already? I work for the government unless you have forgotten and it is vital that I..."

"I thought you owed me after you let John get taken from under your nose and strapped to explosives."

"Fine Sherlock but you will have to accept the next case I give you without your childish moaning."

John trudged up the stairs to the flat laden with Tesco bags.

"Hello John I was just leaving."

"Oh ok. Bye Mycroft." as Mycroft closed the door John practically ran to the kitchen table and placed the bags on top. "Sherlock I have a surprise for you."

"It's a very nice thought John but you obviously bought a... oh." Sherlock had no idea how to react to John's 'surprise'. He was holding up a bottle of whipped cream from an obscure brand whose recipe was 99% sugar. To anyone else this would leave them sick after a spoonful but to Sherlock it was what heaven would look and taste like if it actually existed. Well John covered in Webbs Whipped Cream, which was what was going to become a reality in a matter of minutes.

As Sherlock started to get an erection just thinking about it, he wondered if this was what John actually had in mind or that he was going to make desert for him. Sherlock was finding it increasingly harder to read John which made studying him somehow even more fascinating. He was shocked that John had actually remembered such as obscure thing about him, people only ever seemed to remember that he was an excellent consulting detective and that they had to call him freak.

"How did you know it was my favourite? And I thought it was banned in Tesco for being too tasty for people to handle."

"Of course I know it's your favourite, you're not the only one who pays attention you know. I also know that your favourite drink is cream soda because it reminds you of ice-cream. And this was banned in Tesco because it was eating through people's tables with all the sugar so I bought it from that market stall you did a double take at last week when you saw it. I hope it doesn't corrode my skin, but my chest will be on fire anyway from the trail your tongue will leave."

Smiling that smile which made John feel like he was being mentally ravished, Sherlock reached his lover in one stride and pulled him up into a kiss so the shorter man was on his tip-toes to stay balanced. It was a hungry kiss of plain want and desire which left both men breathless and hard as John led them to the bedroom.

Sherlock, taking control, took the cream and ordered John to undress and lie on the bed. His voice was lower and rougher than normal which made John somehow harder and longing to lose control to his lover. Sherlock located the red tie in his wardrobe and moved to blindfold John, who he could see was hesitant to lift his head as he had never done this before.

Sherlock bend down and whispered "it's alright I'm here. Do you trust me?"

"Always. Though it would be better if I knew you were naked too."

With John now blind and them both clothesless, Sherlock knelt on the edge of the bed skimmed his fingertips along John's lower chest causing him to shudder.

"You know the longer you tease me the longer you have to wait."

Sherlock chuckled once and straddled John's thighs. He reached for the bottle of whipped cream and squirted it onto John's right nipple. John shuddered at the coldness concentrated to his right side but moaned as Sherlock leaned forward to lap it up, ensuring their erections met. Sherlock's mouth exploded with the sweetness as his tongue licked through the cream until all he could taste was Johnness and felt the fluffiness change to his hardened nipple bud.

He did the same on his left nipple and John moaned again, the blindfold intensifying every feeling. Again and again Sherlock worked John's nipples until they were both bucking against each other desperate for more contact. He would however have happily kept this up until the can was empty had he thought than John wouldn't have exploded from the prolonged sensations. Instead he whispered to John to turn over and squirted cream in a line down from between his shoulder blades.

He licked in zigzags and swirls, moaning against John's back, the vibrations mixed with the masterful tongue causing him to do the same against the pillow. Why they hadn't done this before neither of them knew and John made a mental list of other foods they could try. All thoughts of this vanished from his mind as Sherlock pushed his tongue into his anus. Sherlock thrusted his tongue in and out, bending and twisting inside of him. John's hands gripped the bedrails whilst Sherlock's were tracing patterns up and down his back.

When the small amount of friction the bed provided was no longer enough John begged, "More Sherlock, more." He felt himself being flipped onto his back again and pulled Sherlock's head down into a kiss. He could taste the sickening cream but kept going as he raised his left leg onto Sherlock's shoulder because of the underlying taste of his lover.

Sherlock pushed into John as they both moaned against each other's lips. John saw stars beneath his blindfold as Sherlock hit his prostate.

"There Sherlock. Harder."

John moaned again as Sherlock pushed into him faster and up to the hilt, groaning from the back of his throat at the pleasure of being inside the man he loved and being able to make him lose control.

Sherlock reached down and began to stroke John in time with his nearly frantic thrusts. John came first and Sherlock wasn't far behind with a few quick thrusts and collapsed between his lovers legs. He heard his phone chime.

"That blasted phone!" still Sherlock left the bed to answered it and John took off the blindfold/tie.

"It's Lestrade. Hello. Yes. When. Then why the hell wasn't I informed before. You know for detective inspector you are just as dim as Anderson." with that Sherlock threw his phone back on the floor.

"What is it?"

"It's Zara. She was taken two days ago. They suspect it's Moriarty."


	2. Chapter 2

-sorry it took me so long to update. I have no excuse other than starting a story with how it ends and struggling with getting there.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and story-alerted, it means a lot-

(John's POV)

No no no no no. It's another Zara. It has to be.

"How? I thought Mycroft had this place covered so how does he know about her?"

"I don't yet fully understand how he works but I guess he just has very skilled spies. I suppose he could he could have infiltrated Mycroft's men they are all pathetic excuses..."

"Sherlock we don't have time for you to start going on about how much you hate your brother and everything he does. Every second we waste she could be getting further and further away. What are we going to do?"

"First we are going to get showered and dressed. Don't look at me like that we can hardly go around London all sticky and then we will go to her house. No doubt Moriarty will have left us some clues."

"How can you be so sure, he is a criminal mastermind?"

"Because he wants her to be found. I am sure of it. Then he can reveal the rest of his plan to an audience."

oOo

20 minutes later we were in a cab off to where Zara now lived. I had spent enough time helping with Sherlock's cases to know that asking if he knew where she could be or how Moriarty had found her was futile. One, he would give me the 'really John?' look, two, he would say it is stupid to theorise before you have all the evidence, three, it would mean Sherlock was guessing which is something he hates doing even more.

I was suddenly aware that my right leg was jittering

"worrying won't help bring her back."

"Yeah thanks for that Sherlock I thought I had magic powers which could. I will just find the emotion switch in my head so I will stop caring about her welfare."

Calm down John he still doesn't fully understand emotional attachment no matter how hard to try. Acting like this will push him away and I don't have time for two struggles at the moment.

"Sherlock I..."

"It's ok John, I should try to understand more. I would be a blind panic if you went missing. Again. I just don't get how you can be so involved after knowing her for just a few days."

I let that slide knowing we would probably need days longer than a cab ride to explain to him the value if human life.

We arrived at the house and the first thing I noticed was how ordinary it was. A two story house in a street whose gardens told of the life that buzzed the area in the daytime. This is exactly what she needs, a NORMAL upbringing. The picture was spoiled by the 'police line do not cross' tape around it and the sneering face of Donovan.

"Hey freak, DI Lestrade is inside."

I have had enough of her snide comments. She always seems to forget that he is doing her job that she so obviously fails at. "You know what Donovan shut up for once. There is a child missing and there has been for two days so maybe you should stop trying to put people down and actually do your job!"

That wiped the smile off her face. Sherlock smirked at me and led the way indoors, leaving her blushing and obviously concocting her next string of insults.

We walked strait upstairs into what was obviously Zara's room where Lestrade was standing. I could infer from the room that she was in a family which would love and cherish her. The walls were a soft pink with a border portraying a bear singing 'round and round the garden...'. Toys and teddies cluttered the room giving the illusion of life even when the room was empty and a mobile hung over a white cot in the centre of the room of clouds and the sun. I knew that whatever I was seeing was spurring a million thoughts in Sherlock's head and hoped that here lied the clue to where Zara was. My eyes glanced upon one bear with an ear severed. I stepped closer and saw the edges to be straight so it wasn't ripped off.

"Very good John it's obviously been cut by a pair of scissors. Now who would why would anyone want to do that?"

He pulled out his pocked magnifying glass to study the whole room. Man I wish I could be more help. Zara is missing and all I am able to do is stand here like a lemon and watch Sherlock do all the work.

"So Lestrade, you didn't tell me before, why wasn't I informed about this sooner? I assume that the new parents would ring the police strait away if their baby went missing."

"Because Sherlock whatever you may think the police force does a good job and is capable of solving cases."

"Which is why I am here now."

"You are a last resort nothing more. What have you found?

"Well judging by the way the bottom right of the doorframe is slightly black, someone recently stubbed their foot against it with enough force to take off the rubber. This undoubtedly means they somehow knocked out the rest of the family as to not be caught as it's obvious by the fingerprints on the banister that Mr Canterbury is a light sleeper so would have heard something. Even you must know how they got in judging by the new groove on the lock on the front door where they were careless with the pick. The teddy with the ear missing is a message. It stands for the bear's head pub on Orelha Lane about ooo 24 minutes from here by car. There is no doubt this is a trap but it is the only lead Moriarty has given us."

Trap or not there is no way I am standing around here while she is with that monster.

"Well I am still going there. What lane?"

"Orelha. And I am not letting you go, it's what he wants."

"I don't care, there is nothing you can do to stop me. I have my gun. Don't act so surprised Lestrade you know I have it. I can handle myself even if you aren't coming."

"Of course I am going. What do you want me to do, beg you? Because I will if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

"I am going and that's that."

We moved towards the door only to be stopped by Lestrade blocking our path.

"I can't condone this. This Moriarty fella is bad news. I am not letting you two go swanning off in there gun or not. We have got to wait for the gun squad to get there and let the police do their job."

"Lestrade get out of my way before I force you."

He did a double take as if he had never realised how much power and could have over people when I wanted to. He nodded and said, "Fine. And this was nailed to the door."

He handed me a card about the size of post-it note which read:

_Come and get me Johnny-Boy. M_

A crumpled it up and thrust it into my pocket.

-Orelha is ear in Portuguese-


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's magical power to somehow pluck a cab out of thin air paid off as he ran off to summon one before going back to pick up John.

As per usual the cab was silent -the cab drivers always had a sixth sense not to inflict their opinions upon the world when Sherlock was there- but the atmosphere was icy as both men knew they should say something even though words wouldn't come.

They finally pulled up to the pub which was situated at the end of the cul-de-sac next to only a field and an empty house. Many of the pubs in London had been forced to close due to the wrecked economy and this was no exception.

The windows of the two story building had been boarded up such as the house next to it but had chipped corners which marked where it had been forced open too many times by tramps looking for somewhere to sleep and kids messing about most likely.

The sign above the door swung lightly in the breeze portraying a ginger bear's head with only one ear holding a paintbrush in it's mouth. Sherlock moved to stand directly under it and looked up frowning.

"How tacky. Everyone knows that Van Gogh only cut off part of his LEFT ear. No wonder the pub went out of business."

So he knows stories about famous painters but he doesn't know who David Bowie is? In what way can that ever help him in a case that knowing about music legends doesn't? John pondered wondering if he will ever come to know how Sherlock sorts his brain. He started to walk around the pub but Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Don't wander off John; I need you to be constantly in my eye line. If this really is Moriarty and not just a cheap imitation then who knows what is waiting for us."

With that Sherlock strode back over to the door and began to pick the lock, his mind deducing at full speed as he did so.

No new grooves on the lock so either a different person picked it or they had a key. The main pub area approximately 10meters by 15 as the rest of the ground floor is taken up by a pool and darts room. Upstairs is the old owners quarters-two bedrooms, one bathroom and a cooking area. Basement, what you would expect from a pub but we won't need to check there, far too obvious. Unless that's what he wants me to think. No traps on the other side of this door but judging by the slight tilting on the boards, the windows are rigged to emit tear gas if they are removed. How boring.

A few seconds after he had begun, Sherlock stood up and gently pushed the door open.

"wait I have the gun, don't you think it makes more sense for me to go first?"

"Not really John if this is a trap then something is going to happen to us no matter what you do."

John held back his retort knowing full well that Sherlock would ignore him and go in first anyway. He looked around and pulled the gun out of the back of his trousers.

Sherlock walked into the pub, the smell of damp, mould and general dirt having no effect on him but causing John to recoil slightly. The light of the sun could hardly penetrate this bleak darkness but they both spotted a torch that had been 'helpfully' left out for them on the only table that wasn't upturned. John smiled and just pulled out his phone, turning on the light function and gave it to Sherlock.

The floor was that similar of a building site, rubble from a knocked down wall strewn across the floor. Dust clung to the abandoned bar the way it had against the fireplace of 221C all those months ago. Both men couldn't see anything that would help them on their quest.

John turned to Sherlock "should we check upstairs?"

"Sure, I'll follow you."

They took each step cautiously as if each were a mine which could suddenly explode.

"Turn left at the top."

John did so, walking slightly sideways with his gun held steady.

The only door was on the left side of the corridor which both men now stood in front of. Sherlock reaches for the handle.

"Wait." he left his hand floating a few inches away and turned to face John. "What if the door is rigged to something?"

"I assure you John, it's just a door." he flung it open as he said that.

What was inside couldn't be described as just a room.

-Martin Freeman is a fan of David Bowie (as am I) so I thought I would include him :-D -


	4. Chapter 4

It was like a doorway into another world had been opened by Sherlock, the dark hovel of a building shifting into the red glow of the room ahead. The walls, floor and ceiling were all painted black but four bare light bulbs casting a sharp red light into the room, which somehow gave the room a connotation of gloom. String hung from opposite walls holding pictures at irregular intervals which also connected to other strings in a way that would only make sense to whoever created it. Or a consultive detective.

From where the two men stood they could not make out any of the photographs but were wary to enter the room as it had dawned upon them that something must happen. Moriarty wouldn't have let them get this far into the pub without setting up a trap and John knew that if he stepped into that room he wouldn't see the red dot on his or Sherlock's body before they were shot.

Except that there were no windows in the room so how would they get shot from a sniper? On the other hand how would they ever escape if the door was barricaded?

It was Sherlock who broke the silence first. "We have to go in John."

"I know." To hell if I am going to look like a coward he thought and stepped into the room.

His first mistake.

As soon as both his feet were on the black laminate flooring steel shutters slammed down blocking the one and only entrance. And exit.

They both instantly called each other's name and pounded on the metal. Moriarty obviously wants us to still be able to hear each other, but hear what? Sherlock's brain flooded with ideas of how and why the shutters were there but could come up with nothing as to how he should go out getting John back.

"John you need to stay calm, what do you see?"

John turned with his back against the wall and surveyed the room slowly. He tried to deduce like Sherlock did but still couldn't stop his heart rate to increase at the possibility that the oxygen in the room would run out and he would never see Sherlock again. "Well the room is obviously black with red light. I can see the photos now, they are of... No fucking way!" John was simultaneously angrier and yet more scared as he saw what was depicted in the photos.

"What is it John? You have to tell me every detail."

"They are photos from the army." his voice and his whole body was shaking, "every one of them is of either civilians or soldiers and their wounds in Afghanistan. Bullet wounds, shrapnel from explosions and even the dead. How the HELL did he get his hands on these? No..." He had moved further into the room and come across a picture of his dead best friend from the army: Tim Bruiser. Tim had been shot three times in the chest and once in the head. His death had a huge impact on John during the war especially as he was shot at the same time as him so he had always felt guilty for surviving. This was one the reasons the therapist had given for his psychosomatic limp; that John had felt he should have come away from war with something visibly wrong with him without taking off his top.

"John. John? What is it?" John could hear the urgency seeping through into Sherlock's voice which snapped him out if his memories.

"I found a picture of my mate Tim. He died the day I got shot, poor bloke. He and I were close. We... Sherlock there's a message." John had looked up to see writing on the ceiling in white (that looked red due to the light).

"It says 'turn off the light' he let out a sarcastic bark of a laugh, "like hell I will."

"John you should do what it says. There is no way I can get you out of here without a blowtorch and he has made it so all we can do is follow what he tells us."

"That's easy for you to say, you're not stuck in a room full of sick pictures of wounded people that I honestly don't want to know how he got a hold of."

"John do you trust me?"

"Of course I do but..."

"Then turn off the lights"

John took a deep breath to calm himself and flicked the switch next to the door.

Instantly the room filled with a softer red glow as luminous paint, which couldn't be seen with the lights on, revealed itself on the walls. Where a window would normally be there was a painting of a man, which John immediately recognised as himself. He could see where the bullet had tore through the skin of his shoulder and his mind was instantly enveloped with memories of his time in Afghanistan. He tore his eyes away and turned round, only to be faced with another painting of a heart-shaped grenade on fire. He understood what this meant and tried to shout out but it was too late...

0

As soon as John flicked the switch Sherlock realised how stupid he had been. The wall to the left of him was false and as the lights inside the room had switched off the LED lights inside the wall had switched on. It now bore the message 'Ha ha you're dead' and a crude image of an arrow through the heart.

"Jo..."

BOOM!

-I told someone this would be up by Sunday but it was my birthday on Tuesday and the whole world decided it wanted to see me before then so I had no time to write because I was traveling, so I am deeply sorry-


	5. Chapter 5

(Sherlock's POV)

I awoke slumped against what was left of the wall in the pub. I had been knocked out for approximately 3 hours, 43 minutes 22 seconds and could feel a slight prickling feeling in my neck. I have been drugged then. And why haven't I been found yet by the police or fire department? Damn Moriarty has resources everywhere and...

"JOHN!" I screamed this over and over as I stumbled into the remains of the room looking for anything that would help me find him.

I heard my phone chime in my pocket and scrambled for it; the caller I.D said John. The icon when he called me was the first picture I had had taken of us from when we became a couple and was of me kissing his cheek while he smiled in a way that always gave me butterflies. I am not usually sentimental about photos as I can just as easily see the real thing but for some reason it just seemed the right thing to do at the time.

I answered it before the second ring "Hello John, are you alright? Where are you? I swear I will kill that man."

"Sherlock calm down please, we need to talk."

Talk? His voice sounded normal but surely he would be in pain from the explosion and Moriarty undoubtedly would have drugged him.

"Are you alright? What has he done to you?"

"I am fine, just listen it's important."

He sounded urgent now. "Ok I'm listening."

"You have got to understand that I never meant to hurt you." Hurt me? "I just... I can't keep dodging this anymore, you deserve to know the truth."

"The truth about what John? Tell me."

"I am in love with Moriarty. I am so sorry Sherlock but it's true."

... "How... how long have you known?"

"A few months." Months? "We have been sleeping together, I am more sorry than I can express over the phone but it just felt like the right thing to do. We just don't fit anymore Sherlock. Fighting crime is nothing like the rush of actually breaking the law. Like when I killed the cabbie. I did it for the feeling of knowing I killed a man. Killed a man who had kids who needed his fatherly love not just to save you and play 'good-old John' like I normally do. I need the rush of doing bad. This whole thing with Zara is my parting gift; I know how much you adore a challenging case so good luck. I love you still Sherlock. I swear I do. I just love and need him more."

For the first time in my life I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. It didn't sound like he was being forced to say something or that he was reading off a piece of paper. It had come from the metaphorical heart everyone talks about. Was that really John? His John. Amazing John. Had he really been sharing him with Moriarty of all people and had he been able to hide it from the only consulting detective in the world?

I guess I really am unlovable. If someone as warm-hearted and accepting as John doesn't want me then whoever will? I always knew that it was a bad idea to break my celibacy but I chose to over-rule my better judgement.

Think Sherlock, do what you are best at. Something is wrong, deeply wrong. You have to find it. 'months'. Yes. John is really not that good an actor to keep it up for that long but with Moriarty's help... 'Rush of doing bad'. No it is proven that higher amounts of adrenaline are produced when breaking laws... 'I love you'. That's it!

Whenever John says those words no matter the situation I feel something inside me. I ran over all of the times he had said those three words that were preciously stored and backed up inside my brain. Whenever he says it he lets out the tiniest of sighs as if he is happy to get how he feels off his chest before holding his breath again awaiting my reply. This has been the same over the past few months John was supposedly 'sleeping' with Moriarty so he should in theory still subconsciously do it. And wait, he could not have killed the cabbie for the rush of killing a father as he did not know his identity until after he had been shot. The only conclusion of all of the evidence is that 'my John' did not just call me.

"I hope you two are very happy together." I stopped the call.

oOo

(John's POV)

I awoke in total darkness and had to feel my eyes to check they were actually open. Except I couldn't because my hands were restrained by my sides. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth slowly pooling so I turned my head to spit it out.

"Morning sunshine!" I heard Moriarty's sing-song pompous voice from directly behind me and was glad that my army training prevented me from jumping since I hadn't heard him approach. I will not let him get to me or show any weakness. He already has Zara.

Oh god what the hell has he done with her. I swear if he has so much as scratched her...

"You will do what darling? You can't so much as locate my voice properly never mind get up to hit me while you are under my spell."

Well that was true. My head was spinning because of whatever drug he had given me and his voice was coming from random directions. How did he...

"Know what you were thinking? It's obvious, stupid. I have kidnapped enough people to know what they think about first. Oh my god where am I, what did I do to deserve this, where's my family, bla bla bla. You thick humans are so boring."

He did an imitation of my voice and found myself hoping to whatever is out there that if he talked to Sherlock on the phone that he would know the difference. Moriarty had of course fooled Sherlock before.

"I have talked to your 'boyfriend'," he spat the word out as if it pained him, "I told him that you were in love with me because the adrenalin you get from enforcing the law isn't good enough anymore. And when I say that 'I' talked to him I mean that I pretended to be you and told him. I also said that we have been sleeping together for months now and that this had all been some elaborate plot to leave him and giving him the case of the baby as a parting gift. I hope that's ok."

He then kissed me on lips and suddenly he was gone.

What the hell just happened? Surely this has got to be some sort of drug induced dream or hallucination.


	6. Chapter 6

"Morning darling!"

I awoke to the annoying Irish trill and the single bare bulb burned my sleep-dilated pupils. After a few more attempts I could finally make out that the room had changed. Where the concrete slab I was tied to was now stood a dining table, complete with candles and cloche-covered plates. I was still restrained but this time to a stiff wooden armchair by shackles which contrasted with the red-cushioned throne that Moriarty sat in.

"I thought that our first date should be special. Do you like it?"

"Yes Jim." My voice was hoarse from not using it for however long I had been here, "It's amazing being nearly blown up, kidnapped and tied up. And this is not a date."

"I seem to recall that you used to say that to waiters when you were out with Sherlock and you ended up fucking him."

"Ha ha very clever. But going by that logic you have to wait seven months after this 'non-date' for us to start dating and sleep together so can I go?"

"Oh very sarcastic doctor, it's so good when your date has a sense of humour. Tim." He clicked his fingers and who was evidently 'Tim' came in wearing waiter's attire and removed the cloches. He then bowed and stood directly behind me. "This is what I call hostage food because it's easy to feed people. You get pasta John because you're special but normally I give people blended leftovers from butchers. Believe it or not, not many of my hostages survive. Hmmmm I wonder why?" He briefly raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"Am I supposed to be flattered?"

"You will be after you have tried it."

At this Tim lifted a fork of pasta with a red sauce towards my mouth.

"Now John, my John, you can either open your mouth for me or you can be force-fed."

"Fine but I'm not 'your' John"

"Whatever you say my dear."

I shot him a dirty look but that just caused him to laugh and opened my mouth. He was right, damn him, this was bloody-good pasta but this wasn't exactly the time to be enjoying the food when I had to find a way to escape.

"Don't bother. Outside this door is armed guards as well as all around the compound but I am glad you love the food." He started eating now never breaking eye-contact. He had spaghetti and when he looked up at me through his eyelashes as he sucked up the pasta into him mouth in what he obviously thought was a sexy way and licked his lower lip I felt physically sick. I was still being fed my food which was undoubtedly laced with some sort of drug.

"I don't need to drug you anymore; you'll tell me what I want to know."

"Sorry but, no I won't."

"Ooooo you're so sure of yourself aren't you? You will crack because you're an idiot."

"A loyal idiot. And it's not as if you can kidnap Sherlock to use him against me because he isn't an idiot."

"True true. But I can get your sister."

"Do you really think I am stupid enough to tell you anything when I know that you will just kill her anyway after I tell you?"

"Shit I thought that plan was fool proof. Oh well, I guess I will just use Plan B."

Dare I ask? "What's Plan B?"

"That's to be revealed later." Of course it is I'll look forward to it. "You are sarcastic to yourself now that is a skill."

We ate the rest of the food, me not caring about losing dignity due to being a grown man and getting fed since I was wearing practically shredded clothes from the blast and didn't smell too good either. I had after all been in this damp room for what could be days. That reminded me.

"Who cleaned up my wounds?"

"Tim there. He really is a hard worker. What a shame I will have to kill him."

I looked at the man and he flinched, whispering 'please God'.

"Invisible men won't help you. I only stole you for little Johnny here."

"You're like an inch taller than me James and..."

"No one calls me James!" This is the first time I had seen him angry since this latest kidnap. Jeez I only said his given name what's the problem? "It's Jim but you can call me 'Babe'" Woop-Ee-Doo he is happy again.

"Why kill him Jim?" I spat out his name but it didn't cause any reaction.

"Because he was in the presence of the smartest man he will ever meet and all he could say was 'Please no! I have children and a wife, pleeeease let me go'."

"Yeah I can totally see why he deserves to die because of that."

"You know your sarcasm is quickly becoming one of my favourite things about you."

"I am tired of messing around what do you want from me? And more important what have you done with Zara?"

"Zara is safe for now so don't worry your pretty little head about her. And I want Sherlock's heart because without that he is nothing. He was on the right path before you came along and would have been mine. Before you he was a 'highly-functioning sociopath' and the same after you. He won't care who gets hurt as long as there is the slightest possibility you will be with him again.

I used to think that me and him were destined to be together. Now though I don't care because I now see that you are more valuable. You were good enough for a genius such as Sherlock which means you are good enough for me. Well bad enough since you idiots are easily enough manipulated to the other side of the law. With you on my side I can make him sing."

After that over-dramatic but still terrifying speech the mad-man took a walkie-talkie out of his suit pocket, "Bring him in."

-I fail at updating fast

1 million billion apologies-


	7. Chapter 7

(Sherlock's POV)

I have got to find John. I know it's just what Moriarty wants and I will fall into a trap but I don't care. That phone call was obviously supposed to spur me on to find my doctor faster as if I didn't want him back as soon as possible already. He probably wants me to believe he would rape him if I didn't turn up quickly. He wouldn't. Would he?

Don't think about it, you have to find any evidence that will show where they have taken him.

I bend down in the new debris that wasn't dissimilar to what the ground floor looked like. Although most of the photographs John had been describing were either torn or scratched a few had remained unscathed. I could see why he would find them distressing especially if he knew the person as they were particularly graphic and contained close ups of ripped flesh. If this was any other moment I would have taken them for my collection at home but I know John would have frowned upon it.

He had seeped into every aspect of my life which is why it is so crucial that I get him back. Stop. Focus on the task at hand. The explosion, however loud it sounded, was small but powerful enough to blow up the wall which caused the damage to the photographs. There is blood on the floor but only small splatters with a diameter no bigger than 2.6cm. That means he was only slightly scraped by the brick but has only limited reassurance since he is now in Moriarty's hands.

There must be something here, anything. But no everything in this room is how it should be after a blast and kidnapping. Wait, how was I drugged?

I went back into the corridor spinning, looking for anything as no windows were present here. I ran to the stairs and there it was. A man had obviously been stood here and shot me with some sort of tranquiliser gun. A piece of cloth from a 100% cotton shirt was attached to a loose nail that had either snagged it or placed there for me to find. The latter was probably most likely as anyone employed to do this job wouldn't be stupid enough to leave evidence.

I smelt it. Traces of oil and sweat. A small brown mud stain was present on the underside. Obviously he knows I have studied numerous samples from around the country and have them catalogued in my brain. 4% organic matter, clay loam and a slightly reddish tint that comes from Soho.

The chances are he will use some sort of abandoned warehouse if he used a place like this so that is where I shall start.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock was forcibly dragged into the room despite the fact that three men had guns pointed at his head who had stated that he should move or be shot.

The arrogant bastard probably deduced they weren't allowed to shoot him so refused to move of his own accord, thought John, though he admired the man's confidence. Before he could speak Tim put a gag in his mouth and then taped his mouth shut over the top. His eyes conveyed that he was sorry for what he was doing but John knew that he wanted to live as long as possible so would do whatever Moriarty told him to.

Sherlock couldn't make eye contact with the blonde man. He had been told before entering the room that if he so much as looked at him John would be killed. That wasn't an empty threat so he willed him to somehow understand the situation.

"I am glad you found the right warehouse Sherlock, I was beginning to think you weren't coming. I am sorry we didn't take you at the same time as your beloved here; I just wanted to see your face. Watching you panic and drain of what little colour is in your face is oh so much more fun that watching you dance. That's so last year, don't you agree?"

"Yes Jim, everything you do now bores me. Taking John again? Tut tut. I was disappointed by the repetition of using the Carl Powers swimming pool but now you are becoming predictable."

Moriarty was still smiling, obviously enjoying what he had caused.

"And could you get rid of these 'guards', they are dull and it's not as if they will kill me since I know you want to do that yourself."

The Irishman nodded and the men left. When the sound of their steps no longer echoed throughout the room the silence was heavy. The suited men stared into each other's eyes, making John slightly jealous at not being the only person who could read Sherlock. Their silent conversations always spoke more of their feeling than they could ever put into words. However at those moments the tall man's eyes spoke of love or admiration and were now filled with pity. The man in front of him could have been his partner, his equal in a way he knew his brother's superior abilities could never permit. Had the man chosen to work to solve instead of create crime there could be no doubt that they could be a team. There couldn't be two men in the world calling themselves the world's only consulting detectives after all.

But it was that case, that first case that meant it could never happen. Moriarty had succumbed to the desire. The desire to prove he is clever by causing pain to those who rejected him; breaking the rules of a society he had never had a place in. The desire that had always been buried by the detective. He pitied the criminal for cracking so early in life. He pitied the fact that he always had to be in the background so he couldn't show people his abilities. He pitied the fact that he was destined to be alone forever. No one could ever trust Jim the way John trusted Sherlock. He could never be loved.

Jim's eyes read this pity and portrayed a hint of jealously in return. He felt that he and Sherlock were the same which meant he couldn't understand why he was alone. He had minions sure, hundreds, but no one he trusted. That was a given as he had known for years that he was a sociopath but how had John gained the trust of his equal? He had heard the detective numerous times declare that he was a sociopath and proudly. It didn't make sense. Why was Sherlock given the ability to love? For that he had to be punished.

"I have a problem I would like you to solve Sherlock if you're interested."

"That depends on what it is."

"Well it certainty won't bore you and it will stimulate that brain of yours into overload."

"I doubt it."

"My problem is that there are too many people in the room." He clicked his fingers and Tim started to move. He walked over to a cabinet and took out something big. It was Zara who was strapped into a car seat. Sherlock was the first to realise she had been drugged as John was at first just in shock that she was here. She was set down in the middle of the table facing the stood men and then John's chair was turned the same way. A blindfold was then put over his eyes. "You can look at him now by the way, just don't speak to him. I know you figured out where the gunmen are ingeniously hidden behind the fake wall in a way that ensures the bullets go straight through."

Sherlock turned to look at John and felt new bursts of anger surge through him, though he kept this hidden from Moriarty. The man he loved was shackled to a chair in the white top he wore under his shirt and jumper and his ripped jeans. This left his arms and face on show which showed numerous scratched and scrapes from the explosion.

"Now John thinks he is here to give me information about you and he is right. I also told my date that he will help to make you sing, so you had better but on a good show or he will be so disappointed."

Sherlock couldn't hold back a growl at the word 'date', which made Moriarty beam.

"Now back to my problem. You see this room is supposed to be for three people and there are five. Tim can go," a silent bullet tore into him from through the fake wall and he fell to the floor with a slight moan, "but I can't choose between John and Zara. That is where you come in. I am going to give you a gun so you can decide for me.

"If you refuse, you all die. I will stand behind you so if you try to shoot me three bullets will fire and you all die. If you shoot yourself then they both die too. You and whoever lives get a free pass out of here."

"Why?"

"Because it will be delightful to watch how it affects you when you leave. And you and I aren't done yet so I need you out there."

He passed Sherlock the gun that was in his suit jacket and moved behind and slightly to the left of him.


	9. Chapter 9

(Sherlock's POV)

I kill John and I am alone. I kill Zara and I am alone.

John would never forgive me if I shot her, in fact he would kill me. It is more likely to be metaphorical death just from seeing the look on his face. I have seen him disappointed in me many times which, although it certainly isn't a pleasant look, I can live with. That will be nothing compared to how he will look at me when I am labelled a baby killer. It would be disgust and anger that I hadn't chose him which would later be replaced with nothing. The day John looks at me and feels nothing will be the end. There has always been something. Curiosity at first, wonder and respect and then love.

Would John be able to handle it? He still has nightmares from his army days and occasionally from the cases we have worked. I know the death of a child however young is a distressing thing to him, so what would it be like to know that he is still living because a baby died?

But I would not be able to handle John being dead as much as it pains me to say it. In the time we have been together I have become dependent on him. He helps me collect my thoughts quicker even if his suggestions normally are totally wrong; he has saved me on numerous occasions from death and making terrible decisions; he is like my moral compass which is sometimes the key to understanding a case. And like Moriarty basically said all those months ago, he is my heart.

If I had been asked this question a few months ago I would have shot Zara without even having to think about it but now I have to think about what John wants.

His toes started to subtly tap. I had been teaching him Morse code in anticipation of a situation like this when we can't speak but now I almost wish I hadn't. His feet were sending different messages. John's right foot gave the message 'Please shoot me' while his other gave the message 'I love you'.

John.

Oh John.

I tap out 'I love you too' which Moriarty sees but I don't care.

I raise the gun and pulled the trigger.

-There will be more and I have two weeks in France from this weekend without internet so I will write I few chapters then-


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock woke up strapped to John's chair. No, the chair, he corrected, don't think about him when you haven't got that blasted baby out of here yet.

"Morning dear." The detective thought of 143 ways to kill this man that would bring as much pain as possible and 96 more that would let him savour that look of surprise on his face when he did it.

"What's going on? You said I could leave."

"Yes I did, well done. But I said you could leave when either John or Zara are dead and they are both alive so you are staying there for now."

"I pulled the trigger Moriarty, you can't fool me into thinking he survived that, now let me go!"

He spat the words out with as much venom as he could muster but that just made the mad-man happier.

"Oops! Did I forget to tell you that I have invented a type of blank bullet so that the weight is exactly the same as a normal bullet so as not to be detected by, I dunno, people like consulting detectives?"

"Sure you did."

"Uhhh geniuses always need proof."

He opened a bin bag that was by his feet and threw the contents at the detective. It was the clothes John was wearing when he was shot. The smell and texture made them undoubtedly his as an imitation wouldn't have the smell as embedded in the fabric as these. There was blood on them but only from the explosion, apart from a fresher small circle that was on the collar of his undershirt that came from the hole the tranquilliser dart made in his neck.

"Finally remembering that you didn't witness his death are you?"

"It wasn't important that I didn't remember as people regularly forget traumatic situations."

"But you are not people Sherlock, you would never be able to just forget something because you liked him."

"Why would I ever want to remember what it felt like to kill John? Remember what he looked like dead? Remember the way the blood across his chest?"

"Do you understand what this man is doing to you? He is making you normal and you are so much more than that."

"He isn't making me normal, he is making me better. I am solving cases quicker now that he is with me as he knows popular culture and can understand people's feelings and conscience better than I can. Sure I know all the theory behind those things but the insight he gives me into people's hearts is crucial to many cases of mine."

"I am not talking about you solving your cases you dimwit I am talking about you having, feelings." He visibly shivered from head to foot as if he was disgusted by such a word. "Other than rage of course, you are such an angry man. But I've gotta say you look good when you're shouting. What was I talking about?"

"I don't care."

"I'll ignore that. Ah yes, 'love'. Now that we are alone you can tell me the truth and don't worry this isn't being recorded so he won't hear this. Do you really 'love' him?" The word 'love' seemed to amuse him and briefly shook his head as he said it.

"Of course I do. I would never lie to him."

"You lied about the missile plans. You came to see me with them even though you told him you gave them back to your brother. And no, you don't want to know how I know that."

"Well you obviously..."

"I know what I did, you don't have to tell me. We are wasting precious time that's need for telling secrets. Now, we both know how you think, we are both geniuses after all, and you would never tell someone you loved them unless you have something to gain from doing it. It's not the sex, sex is irrelevant and you could get it anywhere, I mean look at you. So it has to be his usefulness that you desire. You tell him you love him because you want him to think the relationship is going somewhere and that you cherish him so he will stay and make you tea. Someone like you can't comprehend 'love'."

"You really are a sad little man."

"I am taller than John."

"John is the perfect height for me. You on the other hand are an inch too big."

"And sad? I really couldn't be happier at the moment. I have you here under my control because I control John and that baby. My life is great."

"I am not under your control. No matter what I do you will just change the rules and kill us at the end of it so there is no point in me doing anything but sitting here."

"Well this backfired." With that he burst into forced hysterics, wiping fake tears from his eyes after half a minute. "You will get why that is funny in a second."

The door opened and a man in white overalls and a plain white mask wheeled in a television. He placed it ten meters away from Sherlock, switched it on and left. On the screen was a naked John strapped to a chair identical to the one the detective was sat on with his wrists tied to it. He was still unconscious and the walls and ceiling were covered with grates. Fire was undoubtedly going to be produced behind it which would either enter the room or just brutally heat the room.

Just? There is never just anything when it is going to hurt John, Sherlock thought.

"Well you have undoubtedly deduced what I am going to do so I guess you want to know how you can stop it. I want you to break out of those bounds and kiss my feet."

"Why? You won't let him die because you gave me blanks and you obviously have more planned so why should I break free?"

"That's the beauty of this Sherlock. I have fooled you before so you don't know whether I am serious about killing him or when I will get bored and let him die. But I admit he isn't going to die in there. Maybe. But can you really sit there and watch 'the love of your life' get hurt? Surely a sociopath like you shouldn't be affected by your heart being burned."

He clapped twice in quick succession and the screens showed a burst of orange as flames erupted through all the grates.


	11. Chapter 11

_- Quick recap – The baby Zara was kidnapped by Moriarty and Sherlock and John went after her. John also got taken by him and when Sherlock found the warehouse he was told to shoot either John or Zara. He shot John but the bullets were blank and they were both knocked out. John was then taken to a room and Sherlock was told to kiss Moriarty's feet or John would burn. -_

* * *

><p>The flash of orange was brief, obviously used to show the power of the source. It wasn't a complicated system, gas and a flint, but that wouldn't stop John from being severely burned.<p>

He was still unconscious but I knew that it wouldn't be long before he came around and could feel the flames that would eventually engulf him if I didn't do something to stop it soon.

A few seconds later the screen again showed fire coming through grates at the bottom of the room. As these were made of metal and John's feet were resting on them, it was likely to cause serious burning to the soles of his feet and even scarring if left too long. Already they were going red from the slight blaze that licked at them and I finally understood why people likened anger to flashes of red behind the eyes.

How dare Moriarty hurt John? Kind John. Strong John. How dare he reduce him to looking like a small child, slumped and exposed as he tortured him just to get to me?

I pulled at the metal shackles that kept my wrists captive though I already knew that there was no way to budge them as they were welded to the metal arms of the chair.

"Did you really think I would make it easy for you to get out? I want to see your face as you hurt yourself to save the maggot getting burned. If you will that is."

I could taste bile in my mouth as he referred to my John like that but showed no external reaction.

"Of course I will get out you idiot, pain could never bother me."

"I was referring to the kissing of my feet. Will your ego let you do that? Sure it's easy to submit to one of the 'normals' but can you give in to a genius?"

He was right of course. As simple as a task it may sound I didn't want to touch the man in front of me in any way. Especially in a manner which would show a loss of my free well.

"You're taking too long, I am getting bored." He clapped again and the flames started to rise getting to just below the doctor's knees before stopping.

He was now starting to stir, the pain making his come around from the drug haze quicker. There was no sound so I couldn't hear him but that didn't make things any better as I could picture his screaming in my head. I had heard him cry out in his sleep many times due to dreams of war but imagining that many times over due to physical pain made my chest hurt. Was this empathy? I was feeling pain because he was, it was irrational yet if I was unaffected by it I would hate myself.

Seeing him like that was the push I needed and I forced my hands out of the shackles. The skin sliced open at the bottom of the back of my hand and an inch practically peeled off as I kept pulling. As soon as the pain receptors were triggered I forced the sensation down and pulled my hands out quicker which caused my thumbs to break, the left one in two places.

Most people would say that the hard part was over but to me that was nothing compared to what I had to do now. If we survived this I would never be able to admit to John that I hesitated before getting out of the chair for a few seconds. Doing this would be like giving in to Moriarty, giving in to a corrupted mind.

I mentally chastised myself. I had to look at this simply, it's either do this or let John die. The fact that I didn't just kiss the mad-man's feet straight away gave me another pain in my chest. Was this empathy again? Or guilt that I found it possible to pause in this situation?

The problem with being me is that I see everything. I see everything that could possibly come from a person's actions and that is why I hesitated. I could see what it would mean for Moriarty. What it would mean to have me submit to him to save another human being; the man I love.

I love John Watson.

I sprung off the chair and pressed my lips to the shoes of my greatest enemy.

He clicked his fingers as he began to chuckle.

* * *

><p><em>-This story was continued because of sentarla giving the idea that the bullets were blanks as a test to see how much John had changed Sherlock.<em>

_I will try and update this as often as I can but I have to study four hours of maths a night, fun times-_


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock woke up in a different room with a pounding head ache. He was glad that it's nearly impossible to overdose on tranquilizers as he had a feeling this could go on forever. Well you couldn't on ordinary tranquilizers anyway and the drug still pumping round his body was something he had never come across before.

Even with his 'massive intellect' he couldn't focus on planning his escape as he knew that John was in a state approximately 1452 times worse than him while he was wasting time thinking about overdosing. The doctor would also be more affected by the drugs as he hadn't spent years as a drug addict.

Oh god this is entirely my fault. Moriarty wouldn't even know who he was if it wasn't for me.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, it doesn't look good on you."

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw, like he had thought, that the room was a similar size to the living room in Baker Street but had concrete walls, floor and ceiling. The detective was lying down this time on the only piece of furniture in the room: a wooden table. He wasn't strapped down, but he couldn't get his limbs to obey him. In fact all he could do was move his head.

The consulting criminal was sat on the table by Sherlock's legs and slowly stroked them, knowing full well that he couldn't feel it or resist.

"I am actually feeling sorry for you that you have nothing better to do in your life than repetitive kidnapping and torture. No wait, that's pity."

"Don't make me laugh Mr. Sociopath. I know that you don't feel pity, just distaste. I saw it when you looked at John through the screen earlier; he sickens you now doesn't he? And now you are looking at me with defeat and your eyes beg to be set free into my arms."

"Believe what you want, John could never sicken me. And I would rather die than be in your arms."

"That can be arranged trust me."

"Well it's highly unlikely that you will let me out of here alive so why don't you just get on with it."

"Because then poor Johnny boy would be alone. I'm not that mean Sherlock, you haven't even hugged him since you got here and it would be horrible to not let you two have a good bye kiss."

"You are such a considerate man Jim, people obviously just misunderstand you."

"I am glad that you finally 'get me' as the young say. I just want to be loved and have someone dote on my every word. No wait that's you. You want an admirer and if he wants sex then that's exactly what you give him. You don't enjoy it, you can't enjoy it. It's just necessary for you to thrive."

"Which explains why I regularly crave his touch and the last time I checked a man needs to have an erection to shag his partner which is a hard thing to do without drugs and thinking of something else leads to malice in a relationship. I know that you haven't seen that between me and John so obviously I enjoy sleeping with him so any other arguments you may have are invalid."

"Tell me more."

"About what?"

"You know what."

"Well I was hoping to be wrong. No."

"Oh come on. I want to know what it's like to fuck a normal without having to do it or hear about it from other shit-for-brains. I love that phrase because even though it makes no sense, it would explain a lot if it was true."

"Still no and I don't give a damn."

"Ooo you're so touchy today. Are you sad that your pet got taken away?"

"I don't understand why people get so attached to animals and pets so it is obvious that John means more to me."

"You like contradicting me don't you? You get off on it. We are bantering like we are best friends"

" We can never be friends or even equals. You are just so pointless to my life. It was fun those puzzles you set for me before we met in person but you took it too far. You are now just a man who likes being in the way."

"Changing the subject are we? If you won't tell me what it's like yet then tell me some facts. Do you prefer to top or bottom?" Sherlock closed his eyes and said nothing. This earned him a slap on the cheek. "Naughty boy. Open those wise eyes of yours, don't make me get the clamps." he complied seeing no benefit in refusing. "Thank you. Now for every question you answer John gets one less whip."

On those words the door to the left was swung open and said doctor was wheeled out. He was still naked and was strapped upright and face first to a wooden board with a ball gag in his mouth. Below his knees the skin was red raw and slightly blistered. Second degree burns, minimal scarring and three to four weeks to heal. That is if they got out of here to get him treatment.

The man pushing was thirty five, six foot and had curly hair under his leather mask. This was obviously supposed to make Sherlock somehow jealous as he was almost identical to him. The main difference was his surlier stance, but that hardly made him feel better as he was still undoubtedly going to hurt his partner.

As if on cue to Sherlock's brainwaves, another man in the same attire, leather mask, trousers and bare chest, entered the room. He was pushing a drolly laden with various rope, metal and other material that would be used to hit John. The two new men in the room were twins, from Hull and raised by just their father, and identical apart from various moles and whip scars on their backs. They were obviously professionals at what they did and although they enjoyed it, the army doctor would not.

"So the first thing I want to know is the kinkiest place you two have had sex. In full detail."


	13. Chapter 13

"In our bed."

"You know you can't lie to me no matter how hard you try. For your cheek Johnny boy gets a lashing."

At those words the first twin walked over to the trolley and caressed its contents. He picked up a stiff leather rod similar to my own riding crop. If anyone else was behind this I would have dismissed the thought that it was being used because on the day I met John I was using one on a corpse but Moriarty had probably been my 'fan' before I had met John so it was impossible to judge what he knew.

"Fine it was-"

"Too late now. You will tell me after he gets hit."

The leather clad man with the whip was now stood positioned in front of John, whose eyes were tightly shut in anticipation of the pain. I wished that I was stood up to the right of the room so John could see me. I know that it would somehow bring him the slightest notion of hope.

The man brought up the weapon and I forced myself to keep watching. I know that for my cases it is best to stay detached but it's far too late for that now. I didn't flinch when I heard the slap of leather marking skin but I internally burned. This treatment wasn't just going to damage John on the outside; it was going to mar his mind. A normal person being subjected to this sort of humiliation and pain would be deeply affected, never mind an ex-soldier with PTSD. His back now sported an angry red line, which Moriarty was obviously pleased with by the way he was smiling.

"It's sad that I have to hurt such a marvellous body but I will do anything to get what I want, which I will. Surely you should have realised the trend that you will never win. So tell me the real place."

It wasn't that I would be uncomfortable talking about my sex life or at all embarrassed, it was just that denying him was giving me the slightest feeling of control. But there was a price to pay for that control was harming John. Nothing would be worth harming him.

"We had just solved a case which involved me stealing from Mycroft and for some reason he was furious about it. He got his driver to stop next to us and I thought it would be amusing to see what he his reaction was so we got in. He was blabbing on and on about him getting me deported if I didn't grow up and then had to leave to get something from his office. Naturally John and I started laughing and 'one thing led to another' as they say and we had sex in Mycroft's car. There happy now?"

"Yes and no. You could have gone into more detail but I guess it was only my first question so it's alright. Ha ha who am I kidding? For missing out the good part of the story you get to watch your boyfriend being hit again. Maybe whips and chains will become your turn on."

I very much doubt that I could ever find such destructive things pleasing in any way that didn't involve experimenting on how best to make Moriarty die in the most painful way possible.

The other twin moved this time, going for a flexible implement of 5 foot. He drew his arm back and cracked the whip onto the already marked back. John was firmly pressing his lips together, determined not to produce any sounds despite the pain from the fiery red marks and from standing on severely burned legs. I had never felt so powerless having to watch the man I love harmed with only ruled out ideas of escape in my mind. I simultaneously felt happy he was still alive and yet also wanted him to have died from the gun to save him this torment and suffering. I then felt a wave of sickness that I thought about wanting him dead and then felt what I guess people call selfish that I wanted him to live through this. The conflicting emotions were affecting me badly, clouding everything else in my mind when I so badly needed to focus.

"If you had to be physically involved with someone who wasn't John who would it be."

"I would never be in that situation as I just want John."

"There's someone I can tell. Who?"

"You're making things up, there is no one."

"Fine then if you had never met our doctor here who would be with?"

"No one."

"But surely you would have another flat mate that you could fuck."

"I might have found a flatmate yes but I highly doubt that they would be able to stand living with me never mind enter a relationship. Besides, I didn't want to enter a relationship until I met John anyway."

"What's all this 'relationship' stuff? I am just talking about sex. Who would you have sex with if the good ol' doc hadn't limped into your life?"

"If I was having sex it would most likely be for an experiment so I would just pick someone up outside a club, no names exchanged or strings attached. Just sex."

"So hypothetically you and me could have had sex if I was at a club?"

"Yes if I wanted to experiment on the average time it takes an Irish man with a comical face to give up when he fails to give me an erection."

I just couldn't help myself. I have never wanted to sensor my thoughts before so when it really matters, like to stop John from getting hurt, there is no way to stop the flow of speech that immediately comes to mind.

"You know what Sherlock, you just can't help yourself. I gave you the chance to save your precious boyfriend some pain but you threw it away because it was the easiest option. My my Johnny won't be pleased. Relationships are all about doing stuff you don't want to do. Well, the normals say that and I have never had a relationship as they are so mediocre and boring. All you had to do was talk and not talk when you shouldn't but you couldn't even manage that.

"I will break him Sherlock. To the point of no return. He will be a broken man and you won't be able to look at him without feeling guilt. You will see that caring is the biggest mistake you have ever made."

Moriarty himself walked over to the trolley this time and picked up the item I was dreading. The cat o' nine tails.

"Don't get your hopes up Locky he isn't worth me getting my hands dirty even though he looks very sexy naked." He gave the whip to the first twin and knelt behind my head, putting his arms around my shoulders.

I didn't move, to not give him the satisfaction of making me uncomfortable, and kept facing forward. I was confused as to what Moriarty wanted me to do: show no reaction or show how much this was hurting me. If I could figure out the right one I would do it if it revealed a means of escape.

I felt a sharp pain in my neck and the last thing I saw was blood pouring down John's back as the material slashed the skin.


	14. Chapter 14

A soft breeze woke Sherlock from his drug educed slumber which informed him that he had been moved to the roof. He was slumped against a door, the door that led back into the building, with his precious coat now sporting a rip on the left side which showed that he had been carelessly thrown into this position.

"I am not sorry about your coat being wrecked, I hope you mind."

Moriarty was sat on the ledge at the end of the roof facing Sherlock. His legs were swinging in a way that implied he was both bored of waiting and excited as to what would happen next. That didn't bode well in the detectives mind.

John was stood to the right of him facing the same way with a noose around his neck, the end of which was tied to an aerial cemented into the ground. He was still without clothes and had his hands cupping his genitalia in an attempt to grasp any dignity that remained within him. His whole body was shaking, as it was night and the temperature was below zero, especially his legs as he was applying pressure to them to stand when they screamed to be relieved from the sting of the burns. His face was worn from the vast amounts of stress that he had been subjected to and for once he was showing his age which was usually hidden by a smile.

"You didn't do that well when you knew that John couldn't die so I thought I would up the game again."

John was looking at Sherlock for the first time in what felt like weeks and felt his eyes burn with the threat of tears for the first time since he had been taken. The detective was looking back at him with no emotion showing as to not feed Moriarty's pleasure yet the doctor knew that he was feeling helpless, possibly more than he had ever felt in his life.

His eyes moved from Sherlock's to his chest and he mentally chastise himself as he looked back up to his face after he realised he had been spotted. Confused Sherlock frowned and glanced down at himself, seeing what had caught John's eye. His shirt was soaked through with blood that wasn't all his and although he couldn't feel any pain he also couldn't feel the dampness of the clothing against his skin due to the drugs. He ripped at the shirt and revealed the source of at least some of the blood.

Across his chest the words 'John's Bitch' had been calved and then stitched up in a way he knew would be unlikely to ever completely fade.

"Do you like it? It's a little gift from me. You are also covered in the blood from lover boy's back from those glorious whips. And I loved that little moment just then when you tried to hide it from him somehow by not looking at it John, I was touched."

Sherlock ran his fingertips over the raised skin and, to the surprise of the other men, smiled.

"Of course I like it. It's the truth after all and now when John looks at me he can read my chest as well as feel it and know I always belong to him."

"Well this is awkward. I was expecting your classic rage or boo hoo let my fuck buddy go." The sarcastic humour that normally tainted his voice was still present to the annoyance of both John and Sherlock and at the words 'boo hoo' he rubbed his eyes in an impersonation of a child and then smiled, obviously pleased with himself.

"Well you obviously don't know me as well as you think you do."

The criminal rolled his eyes. "Urrr you're boring me again. Question: what would you do if your pet died?"

" If my pet died I would be slightly sad that I couldn't experiment on it anymore but I could always get a new one. However I assume in that in that context my pet means John, so I would kill you."

"Again with the boring remarks. I expected something more extravagant than murder but oh well we will just have to see what the reality will be."

He threw his right arm towards John and struck him at the knees, causing him to fall backwards off the side of the building.


	15. Chapter 15

"Woops I am so clumsy." He raised his right hand to cover his mouth for a second and then showed his wide grin. "Oh we'll, it's a good job that there are thousands of other doctors to choose from."

Sherlock for once wasn't listening as he was propelling himself towards the edge of the roof. The distance between the door and where Moriarty was sitting was just under three metres, meaning that he didn't have time to react. The mad-man with the still swinging legs was hit squarely in the chest by the pointy right shoulder of Sherlock Holmes, causing him to fall backwards just as John had done. The detective's shins collided with the ledge, stopping him from following Jim down to a highly likely death. As his hands fell forward to grab the concrete, he looked over the edge. Doctor John Watson was swinging slightly from rope around his neck.

"Jo-"

He found he couldn't finish the word. His voice sounded choked like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The detective lost control of his body and his knees gave way, leaving him slightly hanging over the roof with his stomach against the ledge. He had heard from various sources that when a person dies their life flashed before their eyes. Sherlock was in no way physically dying yet his life was flashing before his eyes. His life with John Watson. The only time in his life that mattered.

He saw the first day they met at Barts which was also the first time he deduced something in front of John and the first time he had winked at him. The memory of that wink made him the realisation he could never be cheeky to amuse John again. Details of that case spiralled past, giggling at the bottom of the stairs, the first non-date, being saved by the man he loved. And always will love. Every saved and backed up memory of the doctor were causing Sherlock more pain as emotions he couldn't name bubbled to the surface. His chest was tightening as he was still gasping for air, so he rolled onto the floor and onto his side to try to increase the air flow.

The more recent memories of kissing and having sex with John were replaying in his head causing him to palm at where his heart was on his still showing chest to somehow relieve the stress. Sherlock looked down to see the stitches had ripped and it looked like his heart was bleeding from the word John.

With the new position he was in he could at least get more oxygen to his brain to think clearer. Think clearer of John. What he looks like. What he looked like hanging naked from the roof. And how humiliating that would be for the dignified doctor to be found that way.

The detective pulled his way back up onto the ledge and stood with new found energy to complete his task. He had to get John back onto the roof and into his arms. Bending down and swaying a little, he picked up the taught rope and began to pull. The ledge jutted out slightly which meant that it was a smooth trip up but with every pull Sherlock's stomach was churning with the knowledge that he would have to see him dead. Slowly the five foot seven man was gathered up in the taller man's arms and placed on the floor.

His brain told him that it couldn't be true, John couldn't be dead. John was a fighter, a soldier and strong willed, he couldn't be killed this easily. Then the detective saw, or rather sniffed. The hair was the exact shade that John's was, is, dark blond with slight streaks of light brown in the style that so suited real man. His face was the same shape, with the same slight dimple of the chin and the few days stubble that occurs when you have been kidnapped, was also exact to the doctor's. To anyone that wasn't Sherlock Holmes (or Mycroft although the youngest Holmes wouldn't acknowledge it) this was the first man to fall from the roof. However it is hard to mask ones natural smell from a trained nose and even though he smelt like John, for reasons Sherlock was trying to ignore at that precise moment, he also reeked of whoever his real identity was.

John's alive.


End file.
